Realms of Stone and Gold Read online

  “Help? Y’need help, Fae Hammer?” Balian barks with laughter like he truly believes Varis is laughing along.

  His posture slips slightly as he tries to reconcile this. Surely, King Balian didn't believe that assassinating the Queen of the Sun Court would be as simple as he's making it sound, but part of him thinks this might be punishment. “How long do I have, Your Grace?”

  “Get it done in a fortnight. Sooner we can clean this mess up, the better. Don’t come back until I can have that pointy-eared shit’s head on a pike.”

  Dread seeps through Varis’ veins, but he knows better than to let it show. “It is done, Your Grace. I will see you in a fortnight.”

  This time, he doesn't back out of the room as is custom. He turns on his heels and walks out with his head held higher than it should be, all things considered — but his King just condemned him to death, he has little doubt. If this is the last his King is ever going to see of him, he won't have it be an act of submission.

  He sends word to Reeve to meet him at the castle as quickly as possible, then starts packing his things. There's nowhere in the Three Kingdoms that he can hide from Balian’s wrath if he attempts to skirt his duty, so he packs for a fight — several of them, and then he waits... and drinks.

  When Reeve shows up, it’s almost as if he knew what to prepare for. He has two bags full of weapons and rushes into the room. “What’s the job? You never send a messenger.”

  “He wants me to kill a bloody queen, Reeve. Remember all those trips to the Sun Court? I don't think Balian was being fully honestly with me. Fully... honest, me with. Oh, stones. You know what I mean,” he slurs out, then hands Reeve the bottle. “Just take it before I throw up on your shoes.”

  His brother chugs the bottle and then steers Varis toward the couch. “Hells. We’re going to bloody die.”

  Varis shakes his head and tries not to follow through with his threat. “No, I'm going to die, you're going to leave your weapons here and go home to Laix and that terrible fucking chicken.”

  “Terrible chi—” Reeve rolls his eyes and calls his brother a name not often uttered in civilized conversations. “Whatever, I’m going with you for recon. We had a bloody deal.”

  “Fine. But that's where this one ends, Reeve. You come with me for recon, but when it's time to do the damned deed, you're going home. Give me back the damned bottle,” Varis hisses as he reaches out for it.

  Reeve lets him take the empty bottle and then chuckles. “No more for you, brother. You’re about to do the biggest job you’ve ever had and you’re here getting hammered before you hammer? Does that sound wise?”

  “That sounds like nonsense,” he counters.

  “Exactly. You’re utter nonsense.” Reeve lifts Varis up with ease and carries him to the bed. “Sleep it off. Echo and I will take the couch.”

  He groans as he tries to sit back up, then quits and allows himself to sink into the mattress. “I shouldn't have drank so much. We have to ride that stupid dragon again tomorrow.”

  “Damned dragon... we’ll take the smaller one.” Reeve tucks him in and blows out his lantern. “Sleep it off, little brother. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  As Varis contemplates the ridiculousness of that statement, he starts to drift off — and this time, he doesn't dream at all.

  “WHATEVER YOU DO, PLEASE don't try to get me laid today,” Varis mutters as they ascend the steps to the tallest tower. “If I make it through all of this, I promise you I'll willingly get myself laid often enough that you’ll have to take me to the nearest Wise Woman. She won't have enough potions or incantations in her whole shop to cure me.”

  “Don’t doubt Marge. She’s cured me of the worst.” Reeve ruffles Varis’ hair and then promises he won’t try to get him laid. There’s no room for games this time; one slip could get them killed, and Varis is just happy his brother is on the same page.

  When they reach the top, he pushes open the door and stops dead in his tracks. Where there should be two dragons, there's nothing but empty space and the picked-clean bones of their latest meal. “Have they gone on sabbatical or something?”

  “Dragons have sabbatical?” Reeve asks, opening another door where the dragontamer is napping under his hat. “Oye! Where’s the bloody dragons?”

  “Who are you?” The man jumps up, but when he spots Varis, he relaxes only slightly. “Oh, you. They’re on missions, Master Kester. They’ll be back in three days’ time.”

  “I don't have three days, I need one of them now,” Varis snaps. “Are there any others?”

  “Oh, yes. Let me just check my bloody pockets.”

  Reeve steps forward angrily, but Varis holds an arm out to stop him. “It's not worth it, Reeve. Let’s go, we'll have to take the old way.” Not one part of him wants to do that, but with only a fortnight to complete the task, he doesn't have the luxury of waiting.

  “See you around.” Reeve grins at the small amount of fear in the man’s eyes, and when they finally hit the outside air he relaxes. “Been a while since I got to punch someone, but fine. Portal our only option?”

  Varis nods once. “Yes, which undoubtedly means you'll be punching someone soon enough. Didn't want you to break your fingers before we even get there.”

  Reeve just laughs, but it’s strained and almost forced. He’s nervous, just as nervous as Varis is, and the stress of their upcoming trip weighs heavily on the mood as they walk toward the end of the city.

  This side of the portal is largely unguarded, save for a few hired hands. King Balian has always been convinced that the Fae won't dare come here despite several occasions that prove the opposite, so it doesn't take more than a few coins for them to prepare to cross over. “The second we step through, they'll be on us. Get your bow out and nock an arrow now, put some distance between you and the Fae on the other side, and try not to shoot me.”

  “Got it, anything else?” The side of Reeve’s lip turns up to reveal he’s being sarcastic, but he gets right back into the moment a second later. “You and me, brother. Let’s get this shit done.”

  “Until the last of us dies,” Varis offers. He grips his axe a little tighter and steps through the portal with Reeve right on his heels, and they're instantly met with resistance. Quickly, Varis tries to get a headcount as he dodges a blast of light from one and blocks the blade of another. He counts six before the first arrow whizzes past his head and knocks that number down. With a heavy swing of his axe, he slices through another one like he's little more than a hanging vine in his way, and Reeve shoots off three more arrows in a matter of seconds.

  One of them is dodged, and that Fae hits Varis with a ball of burning light before his brother cuts him down with his blade. “Var!” his brother calls, still swinging at a Fae in Varis’ peripheral.

  He snatches the blade from his boot and whips it toward the Fae, smirking to himself as it lodges in the back of his neck. When he drops, Varis turns his sights on the last one standing. One of Reeve’s arrows is sticking out of his shoulder, so Varis walks forward slowly with a look of faux concern. “Bet that hurts. Do you want me to help?”

  As the Fae nods and drops his weapon in favor of cradling his arm, Varis almost feels bad. Almost regrets the monster he becomes here — or maybe he just regrets the fact that Reeve can see it. The moment he's close enough, he snatches the Fae’s dropped sword and thrusts it up through the bottom of his chin, then yanks it back out and jumps back to avoid as much of the blood spatter as he can, which isn't much.

  “Varis.” Reeve’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and when he turns toward him, all he sees is concern — but not for the Fae or the killing, concern for Varis. “You’re hurt, brother. Let me see it.”

  Frowning, Varis looks down. “Hurt? I'm not hurt, I don't get h—” The sight of his own side makes him nearly lose what little breakfast he had. The leather he wears over his tunic is gone, his tunic is torn and singed, and his skin... “The light. He hit me,” he says dumbly.

  “I know. Sit
.” Reeve forces Varis down with a strength that surprises him and pushes him to lay back so he can check out the wound. “Shit! I’m going to need potions, brother... but we can’t bloody stay right here in the open. I should have never left Echo behind. Where’s Trystrel?”

  “Didn't even make it past the damned guards,” Varis hisses. “He wants me to kill a damned queen.” With a groan, he shakes his head and grips Reeve’s shirt. “Trys will come for me. He always does. Go back. Find Marge.”

  “I’m not leaving you in this bloody realm alone.”

  Reeve nocks an arrow when they hear a noise from the sky, but to their relief, it’s only Trys. “Help him on. I’ll take you both somewhere safe.”

  The peryton kneels to provide easier access, and Varis pulls himself off onto Trys’ back with a grunt. Now that his adrenaline is wearing off, he's starting to feel every broken, burnt inch — but he rides out the rest of it as he settles and holds tight. “To the trees, Trys. Somewhere secluded.”

  Trys responds with a flap of his mighty wings and they’re lifted up into the clouds within seconds. The ride is better than it would have been on any dragon, but every gust of wind has Varis wincing in pain and wondering how strong that Fae had to be for his light to cause this much damage. Varis has taken more hits from Fae light than he can possibly remember, but most of the time, his body just absorbs it.

  Not this time.

  “Almost there, Var. Just hold on for me. You’re still unstoppable, still the Fae Hammer, still undefeated... they’re too dead to ever say otherwise.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Varis mumbles. “I'll be as dead as they are if this wound is allowed to fester.”

  Reeve’s eyes darken and the fear in them reminds Varis of the night he was taken from his bed. He remembers Reeve trying to hide him in the closet as if it could save him, and his brother’s screams when the men came into the room before they could even attempt it. He’ll never forget the helpless look in those bright blue eyes as Reeve slumped against their father and gave up fighting his hold. Why he thinks of this night he isn’t sure, because hopelessness is nowhere to be seen. Reeve is scared, but determined, and Varis of all people knows just how dangerous that combination is. His brother won’t fail him.

  When Trys lands and Reeve manages to get some water into Varis’ system, he checks his blades and leans down to slap Varis’ cheek softly. “No sleeping, eh? I’ll be back before you know it. Trys, keep my brother alive.”

  “No, take him with you. If more guards replace the ones at the portal, you'll need him. Leave me your bow and your remaining arrows. You'll be faster with him, too.” He braces himself against a tree trunk and leans a little to the right, but holds out his hand for the bow. “I won't let anyone get close.”

  “Bloody hell.” Reeve does as told and ruffles his hair like he always does. “Eat something. We’ll be right back.”

  Varis knows “right back” is a stretch, but when his brother mounts Trys and they leap into the air, he knows Reeve will be back as quickly as he can. Part of him regrets not going with him already, but they'll move much faster without him.

  He finally gets the nerve to look down at his side once the forest goes silent around him. It's not as bad as he thought originally, but these types of wounds can turn fast. There isn't much near him to wrap it or cover it with, so he does his best with some of the damper leaves surrounding him, then braces himself and prepares an arrow. Varis knows he won't be able to aim for shit, but he hopes his reputation precedes him enough that any Fae or animal that might pass his way will think twice before approaching.

  But most of him isn't that optimistic.

  Within an hour or so, his eyelids become heavy, and staying awake becomes just as much of a chore as holding up that damned arrow, but he finds the strength and continues to fight.

  The first sound of crunching leaves wakes him as effectively as a bucket of cold water would have, and he holds that arrow truer than he thought possible in such a state.

  “Put the arrow down, human. No one needs to be harmed here.” Where the voice comes from, he isn’t sure. He looks around, up, behind him, but nothing can be seen.

  “Easy for you to say, oh Cryptic, Disembodied One. Come down here and say it to my face.”

  The Satyr launches out of the trees and dodges the arrow Varis lets fly, then slowly approaches him. “Last chance. Lower your weapon, or I will kill you and take what I want.”

  Varis eyes the creature and wonders if the tree trunk hanging between his legs is bigger than the one he's leaning against, then huffs a nervous laugh. “I like 'em big, but that's a stretch. Pun intended.” He sets the bow down slowly and swallows thickly, knowing the blade in his boot is too hard to get to. “What is it, exactly, that you want? Can't really be my rotting corpse, I'm not that pretty.”

  “Oh, but you are.” The Satyr eyes him hungrily and then shakes the thoughts away. “Perhaps some other time. You have food. I want it. I happen to prefer the Stone Realm’s food to this wretched, bright place, and I just took a Fae behind a tree less than ten minutes ago. Seems your pretty little arse gets a pass this time.”

  “Then it sends its regards,” Varis quips, “and a great many thank you’s.” He sits up a little straighter and tries to steady his heart rate. “I'll give you the food, but you'll have to come get it. I'm not quite as nimble as I usually am. Probably means it's best you're taking a pass.”

  “Perhaps, but next time I won’t be so kind.” The Satyr starts walking forward, his hooves clicking with each step. “You really are rather pretty.”

  Varis bides his time with every step, then grins. “Shame I can't show you my pretty axe. This will have to do.” He grips the arrow he dropped and swings it up, driving it into the Satyr's temple. The beast crumples, landing on Varis' legs, and nothing he does dislodges it. “Bloody... hells! Come on, Reeve... please hurry.”

  When Reeve returns, the sun has shifted a little more and Varis’ toes have begun to go numb, but that seems to concern him less than the fresh blood on his brother’s tunic. “Do I even want to ask what happened here?” Reeve asks before he and Trys manage to move the heavy corpse from Varis’ legs, then holds up a potion to his lips. “Drink. I have to clean your wound.”

  “Fine,” he mumbles. The potion is sour and hot, but Varis can feel its instant effects. “You don't ask me what happened here and I won't ask you how you paid Marge for all of this. I see you pilfered a little extra.”

  “Paid? Right... and we didn’t see Marge. We went to another healer, and well... they tried to say no.” Reeve shrugs and works on the wound. “I also got some extras. Sleeping and blinding powder, plus something for that itch you were talking about in your drawers.” Trys looks at Varis with a worried expression, and Reeve chuckles. “Fine, that one’s more a preventative for you.”

  Varis sighs. “Great. Now you told me, so I have to tell you. He decided he wanted a snack and I told him no. He tried to take it. Guess even wounded, I'm better than that healer you robbed.” He hisses as Reeve hits a particularly sore spot. “Easy.”

  “Don’t be a baby,” Reeve retorts. “Was your ass the snack?”

  “No, the food was the snack. Don't ask questions.” Varis blushes from the lie and hides his face, but then relaxes as he realizes it's not much of a lie at all — until he remembers something else. “Did you see anyone else around here? He said he took a Fae a few minutes before he found me, but I don't think anyone else came round.”

  “No. We circled around and didn’t see anyone, so either it was consensual and they left, or their body is out there somewhere.”

  “Then they can return to the dirt together.” Varis straightens up when Reeve is done, then finally takes a bite of food. “Settle in. I won't be able to move for a few days... it's about to be a long night.”

  Chapter Six

  It takes three days for Varis to be fully recovered. The potion works quickly and effectively, but not fast enough — and Varis is in a foul mood because
of it. “Three days. Three bloody days. We could've just waited for the damned dragons.”

  Reeve huffs and stands to help clean up camp, but Trys responds before he can. “You have no patience. You needed to heal, Varis.”

  “I needed to not get sent on a suicide mission,” he snaps, but he instantly feels bad. To apologize, he sneaks Trys some of his favorite snacks and pets his head. “Sorry, Trys. But I don't really have the luxury of patience right now.”

  He bows in response, content to just finish the snack and watch Reeve struggle with their makeshift shelter.

  “How’d we get it in the bag in the first place? It doesn’t bloody fit anymore.”

  “I figured you'd be an expert at making things fit, Reeve,” Varis jokes. “Move, I'll do it. Go on ahead and see if there's a spot we can watch her from. I don't want to move too far.”

  Reeve drops the mess in his hands and nods his head. “Fine. Trys, want to give me a quick lift up?”

  The peryton bows to let him climb up, and once Reeve grips his antlers to keep himself steady, he takes off into the sky. Varis watches them until they disappear from view, then properly packs up the shelter with a soft chuckle. “And they say I have no patience,” he mutters to himself. “I've got more patience than Reeve.”

  He slings their many bags over his shoulders and takes off, stepping over the mossy, fallen branches and strange flowers as he follows the path they took. Though he listens for any sign of life around him, he's focused on one thing — Trystrel’s call. He walks for what seems like two or three miles before he finally hears it, he curses and turns around to head back the way he came.

  A few minutes later, he finds them in a small clearing. “Bloody hell, were you going without us?” Reeve asks after hopping down to help with the bags.

  “No, I was looking for you. Seems it worked and saved us time. I have no patience, remember?” He winks at Trystrel and helps Reeve set up, then checks out their surroundings. They're hidden enough in the clearing that they'll be out of sight at night, even with a fire burning.